


The Demon's Playbook

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fear, Forced Orgasm, Light Bondage, Tumblr: spnkinkbingo, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Manipulation is every demon’s tactic. You really should have known better.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	1. Part 1

“You don’t have to stay in here, you know,” Sam says, eyes soft; concerned. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Oh, I don’t wanna leave,” Dean says behind you, and you can hear that icy grin wrapped around the deep baritone of his voice. Your breath catches, but you quickly recover.

“I know,” you smile, forced as it is. “Just…” You curl your arms around yourself, always so chilly down here - though you know the dungeon’s temperature has nothing to do with the cold flickering down your spine. You drop your voice down to a whisper. “Just makes me feel better to see him, to - to know. Y’know?”

Sam smiles tight, lips a pale pink line. “Be careful.” He gives your shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Always,” you manage, and then he’s gone. The grating sound of the heavy door closing makes you shudder, and then a stiff blanket of silence falls over the dank, gray prison.

“Just you’n me, huh?” The demon rumbles, and the grit of it makes your skin tight. “Fun.”

You turn then, level your eyes with his. “Just shut up.”

Jade irises glitter underneath dull light, too-white grin slicing open. “Aww, c’mon. Don’t be like that.” His head bobs to the left. “When’s the last time we had a chance to chat, hmm?”

You stiffen, cross your arms hard over your chest. “I don’t chat with demons.”

He smiles steady, eyes unblinking. “You can make an exception for me… can’tcha?”

It hurts, _truly_ hurts to see Dean like this. The bravery, the heart, the morals - all dwindled down into this twisted, black mess. “ _Especially_ not for you,” you sneer, guts seizing up with the words.

His smile broadens into something very not human. “Ouch,” he mocks. “That cuts _deep_.”

“Spare me.”

Dean’s grin fizzles into a deep frown, the change in his expression so sudden that it’s… _startling_. He says nothing for a long moment, the space so quiet you can hear the hum of the lights. “I didn’t ask for this,” he says finally, voice small, broad shoulders slooping. “I didn’t ask for the Mark, I didn’t ask to _die_.” You feel something give deep inside, but no. No, it’s a game - it’s _got_ to be. “I sure as hell didn’t ask to come back as…” he glances down, grimaces. “As a fucking _demon_.”

 _Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck._ This is no doubt a play - and it’s a good one. Your biological instincts aren’t helping matters either. “That’s why you’re here, Dean. We’re gonna cure you. I promise.”

“Or kill me.”

You suck in a breath. “No. _No_. You - you can’t die, right?”

His jaw works hard, eyes deepening into a dark spruce. “I’d rather,” he says through clenched teeth. “Why couldn’t you two let me go? Huh? Why couldn’t you just… give me peace?”

His face is soft now, hard lines smoothing until he looks twenty-five again - and it makes you melt.

Not. Good.

“Nice try, Dean,” you seethe, “but I’m not stupid.”

“I - I know you aren’t,” he sighs; defeated. “M’just tired. _So_ fuckin’ tired.”

His head is bowed, and he’s so - still. You wonder, just for a moment, if he’s fallen asleep. “Dean?”

He grunts.

“We’re gonna help you, okay?” You take a careful step forward, dip your head to catch his gaze. “We’re gonna get through this. We’ll get you back to, y’know. To you.”

Dean scoffs and draws his head back. “You honestly _believe_ that, don’tcha? You actually think you can cure me? I’m cursed!”

“We know how to cure dem-”

“I ain’t just a demon!” Dean booms. You jolt and rear back from the thunder of it.

His eyes are blazing, and god, he looks - he looks _terrified_. “Dean.” Your voice softens as you approach this like you would a frightened child. “You’re going to be okay. You have my word.”

Dean laughs sardonically and shakes his head grim. “You gotta let me go, kid.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

He licks his lips, ivory teeth worrying at the ruddy, fat plump. “If we keep this up,” he says, eyes flicking back to yours, “I’m gonna hurt my brother, I’m gonna hurt _you_. I can’t live with that. Not even now.”

It’s only right at this very moment that you realize how sucked in you really are. He’s faking. He has to be faking… right?

“Dean, look - I -”

“Just tell Sam you went for a nap or somethin’. Just tell him I got away... Our little secret?” He looks so small, so sheepish, so boyish, so… _Dean_. “Please?” Oh, not the eyes, not those wide, sea-green pools of pain and hopelessness. Raw desperation.

“Stop.” It comes out a plea, sharpened with the steel of command. “Just… stop.”

And then he says your name, each syllable of it rolling off his tongue like it’s a part of him he’s giving up - and fuck. It goddamned churns your insides and sinches up your chest.

“I just wanna go,” Dean whispers. “I wanna… I just need to be… free.” He swallows. “Please. _Please…_ justlet me go.”

Shit.

He has a point; he isn’t just any demon. He’s a Knight of Hell now, fueled by the dark, ancient magic of the Mark. At the very best you’re torturing him with purified blood - at the worst… you’re killing him.

But you can’t just release him back into the wild. You can’t grant him that unrestrained freedom to - to wreak havoc upon innocents. Winchester or not - he’s a monster now.

“And what will you do?” you ask, face set stern. “What will the _Mark_ have you do?”

“I don’t go after humans,” Dean says. “Even now.” He sighs, licks his lips. “Please-”

“The Mark has to be fed, Dean. You can’t control it-”

“So I’ll feed it with spilled demon blood!” He sounds so tired, so - shattered.

You chew at your lip as your mind battles with your heart. It’s your responsibility - you and Sam’s responsibility now - to protect the world from evil. Just... at what cost? This is still Dean. There’s a good man buried underneath all that smoke and tar, a good man struggling for his soul.

“You can trust me, kiddo,” Dean says, voice a low rumble. “You know me. You know I’m good for it.”

And then the wall crumbles.

Your boot rasps over concrete as you take the final step. Sam’s gonna be furious. Slipping your knife from your belt, you crouch down, heart hammering as you scrape the blade through dried paint. Your eyes are slow as they glide up to the soft moss of his.

“Thank you,” Dean whispers. “Just, ah, a little help with the ropes and m’outta your hair. I promise.”

You clear your throat. “Oh - yeah. Sorry.” You huff out a dry chuckle, then rise to your feet as you tuck the knife away. Your legs are jelly as you thump over to him, hands trembling as you work the ropes loose, feels a bit like you’re defusing a bomb.

Christ. Sam’s going to kill you.

You take a step back as he shakes the ropes off, rubs at his wrists, and flexes his fingers. “Thank you,” Dean says again. “I swear you won’t regret it.”

“Make sure I don’t,” you laugh, nervous, then swallow thick as Dean stands to his full height.

It all happens in a flash, demonic strength and speed at his advantage. Thick fingers curl around your throat, the hot meat of his palm pressed against your larynx. Your hands fly to his wrist on instinct, but he may as well be made of stone.

“That was _way_ too easy,” Dean grins, eyes a wet coal. “You really are a stupid little girl, ain’tcha?”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manipulation is every demon’s tactic. You really should have known better.

Voice stifled, all you can do is choke and twitch. He shifts his grip, the heavy heel of his hand pressing harder - dear God; he’s going to kill you right here.

Soft, warm lips find your ear. “If y’wanna breathe, you’ll do what I say. Got it?” He gives you shake in emphasis, and you nod as much as his hold allows. “Good. Down on the floor, on your belly.” His voice is syrupy, doesn’t match the gravity of the situation.

You cough at your release, rub at the ache he’s left behind. The concrete’s like ice against your boiling skin, but of little relief.

“Hands behind your back.”

 _Damnit_.

You let out a defeated breath as you obey, cross your wrists at the small of your back. “Please, Dean. God, just - just don’t kill me. _Please_.”

The demon chuckles as he winds the ropes tight, and your body jerks with the careless force of it. “No worries,” he says simply. “Told ya I don’t kill humans.”

“Yeah - ow!” you gasp as the ropes bite and burn. “Yeah, you’re definitely trustworthy.”

“Demon,” he cracks.

“If - _damnit!_ If you’re not…” You clench your jaw. “If you’re not gonna kill me, this really isn’t necessary.”

 _THWACK_!

“Shit!” you screech, the plump of your lip catching between your teeth as a prickling sting blooms across your ass.

“Y’know, I never paid much attention before,” Dean says, “but you really are a sexy little thing.”

_The fuck?_

“What? No - ew!” Dean’s attractive, anyone with two brain cells to rub together can see that - but this is Dean. He’s always been like a brother to you, someone you could count on; someone you could confide in. This is… no. Just no.

He slaps down to his palms, boxing you in, knees framing your hips. “Wanna have some fun?” he whispers, breath a hot fan over the shell of your ear.

“N-no…” The hell? Assertive. Be assertive!

Dean shifts over you, rakes heavy fingers through your hair to smooth the mess away, and then presses a warm kiss to the side of your neck. “I think ya do.”

He’s out of his goddamned mind. That’s the only explanation. Dean wouldn’t do this. He would never, and _you_ would never-

A hand curves over the slope of your ass, fingers dipping down way too close to-

“Stop!”

“That a no?”

The hell kind of a question is that? “Yes, it’s a goddamned no, Dean! Get _off_ of me!”

“Oh,” Dean says, voice light. “Y’sure? ‘Cause no means you _don’t_ want me to rub your pussy til ya cream.”

 _WHAT_? And who the hell _talks_ like that?

Fingers squeeze at the fleshy globe of your ass, denting deep even through the denim. “And I _really_ think you do,” he hisses.

You throw your head back then, aiming for anything that makes contact, but he swiftly dodges, gives you a _whoa-ho-ho_ , and sniggers. “Feisty!”

You grunt and gasp, breathless already, but you muster up enough strength to _heft_ and _twist_ yourself from the hips in an attempt to buck him off - but he’s braced solid and heavy - so all you manage to accomplish is pressing your ass against the rigid line of his dick. _Fuck_.

“Hey-hey,” he breathes. “Settle down.” He groans, presses right back against you. “Damn, you feel good.”

 _Shit-shit-shit-shit_.

“Dean. C’mon. You’re hurting me. Can you - _fuck_. Can I just turn over? My chest hurts.”

“Sure thing, doll,” Dean says, and thank god, because if you can just get him off of you-

Your back cools as his weight leaves you, and big hands fit snug around your hips. He flips you like you’re nothing, but you take the moment to get your boots against his chest and _push-_

But his reflexes are cat-like, fingers gripping you under the calves and then he’s folding you in _half._

“Damnit!” you roar, jaw set and cheeks scalding as you draw up everything in you to thrash - but his hold is solid steel, renders you absolutely immobile with the way your legs are bent, thighs nearly flat against your torso. He settles his weight into it, enough for you to feel the burning stretch, and _gleams_.

“See all the fun we’re havin’?”

You can’t do a thing but lie there panting, chest heaving as Dean thumbs little circles into your calves. “Shit, Dean - just stop it. Lemme go!”

Dean sniggers, deep crinkles burgeoning out from the corners of momentarily-green eyes. “Funny how the tables have turned, huh?”

“Quit dicking around, asshole. You wanna go? Then fucking _go_.”

“Nah. Not til ya lemme give ya whatcha want.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Look me in the eye n’tell me you ain’t soaked right now. I dare ya.”

 _“Excuse_ me?”

 _Fuck-shit-fucking-fuck-fuck._ How does he _know?_ He can’t know that this is (secretly) a huge turn on for you. He doesn’t know your kinks. There’s no way. You aren’t _that_ close.

“See, here’s the thing,” Dean says, eyes glinting. “Few months ago, I uh, stumbled upon your search history on your computer-”

“You _what?!”_

“You are one _kinky_ little girl,” he beams. His grin is hungry; blinding as he glisters down at you, and your stomach knots. “So…” he continues, lowering your legs to bracket them around his own waist. You let him. “I happen to know how much you _like_ being manhandled…” He jerks you forward by the hips until your ass is slotted between his spread knees. “I know how much you like being spanked…” He cracks his palm against your thigh. You yelp, but fuck if your nipples aren’t stiff in your bra. “I know how much you crave to be… controlled.” His voice drops to a deep, stony grate with the last word.

You’re so slippery-hot between the legs now that you’re absolutely convinced Dean can _smell_ you with the way he’s got you spread open. You shiver and suck in a shaky breath.

“Just because I…” You swallow. “I mean - that doesn’t mean I want _you_ to…” _Damnit_. Why are you so fucked up? Why are you imagining him - with those big hands - shit. “…do those things.”

Dean hums. “That so?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You don’t sound so sure…” His voice is like gravel. “I think…” He smooths a hand over your thigh. “I think you’re just _aching_ to have a demon put you in your place.”

You laugh shaky as your cunt clenches. “You wish.”

Dean blinks, jade to shiny ebony, and his smile twists into something _feral._ “All y’had to do was ask…”

“Dean…” It was meant a warning, but comes out a moan.

“That’ll do.”

And then he’s falling back over you, one hand planted next to your head, the other wrenching your jeans open. You’re panting shallow and you’re definitely bit terrified - but _so_ goddamned turned on that you think you might melt right into the cold concrete. You gape up at him, jaw slack as he burrows his hand underneath your panties, callused fingers slipping right through the hot slick of your folds. Dean rumbles out a curse, then drags the now-wet pad of his middle finger up to your clit - and just - he goes right _for_ it, starts these tiny, _perfect,_ tight little swirls that makes liquid fire flood your veins.

You make a croaking sound as he rubs, each rough circle sending zing after zing of hot sparks hurtling through you. Your arms and wrists ache with the way they’re stretched and pulled behind you, your fingers numbing from the pressure of your own weight against them - but the pain is rapidly ebbing from Dean’s _one_ whirling finger - just _how?_

And, oh - he’s going faster now; _swirling-and-pressing-and-pressing-and-swirling._ You can feel your thighs going taut as you start to shake, and your mind tries to make sense of it, but it’s so muddied up with arousal that you soon find you don’t _care_ anymore.

“Damn,” Dean huffs against your mouth, “You’re gonna be so much fuckin’ fun.” He’s dipped down, nose-to-nose with you, that oily gaze occupying your entire field of vision as he rubs _fasterandfasterandfaster-_

It’s those soulless eyes that make this situation infinitely more dangerous, more _thrilling -_ and the bastard fucking knows it.

You let out a helpless shriek as he winds you tighter and tighter with that one spiraling finger. His pitchy gaze is steady and unblinking, smug grin slashed across his face as he rubs and whirls. Your hips tilt and curl uncontrollably as the fiery pleasure coils. He slips his head to the left, ducks down to suck a deep, wet kiss into the the curve of your neck - and it’s so sudden and good and wrong that it makes your entire body jerk and _clench_.

Dean drags his finger down, leaves your clit with a pulsing, burning ache, runs the rough pad down, down, down… and then _shoves_ inside down to last knuckle. You bark out a stunned sound and wait for the pain… but you’re so wet and shivery that it never comes.

He gives you a testing wriggle, and you squirm at the deliciousness of the stirring inside you. “F-fuck,” you gasp, because it’s all you can manage; your body feels like it’s set on vibrate.

Dean’s still mouthing at your neck, works his teeth into it, and oh, that makes it so much _better_ \- and so much worse.

Your eyes slam shut when you feel another finger inch its way in, stretching you little by little. You’re so wet you can _hear_ it, can feel the wet-hot drip, can just imagine the way it’s slicking down his fingers. You vividly picture the way your panties are bunched up over his hand, and-

 _Fuck._ He isn’t easing you into it, just starts thrusting hard and fast and _wild_. The groan bubbles up your chest and breaks from your throat before you can stop it. Dean draws back and locks those still-black eyes on yours. He’s flushed and damp and no doubt hard as steel underneath his jeans.

“That’s it,” Dean mumbles. Your eyes snap open. “Just enjoy it…” He licks the fat cushion of his bottom lip into his mouth and drinks you in, eyes gleaming with unbridled… joy? Pride? Satisfaction?

It really doesn’t matter though, because his fingers are just a pistoning buzz, and you can’t keep your eyes from rolling deep into your skull. You don’t think you’ve ever needed to come so bad in your _life_. Everything is zeroing in on the furious pummeling between your legs, and you feel so tight and hot and cold-

And then he curls those fingers so he can jab right at that deep, sweet patch. There’s a high, screeching sound echoing off the concrete walls that you can only assume is you. It almost burns - it _does_ burn - and shit - it feels like you need to - to pee?

“That’s my good girl,” Dean croons, voice deep and gritty. “Give it all up, lemme have it.”

“N-nnn…” you try, but the pressure is building - and you can’t feel your legs anymore.

“C’mon,” he grunts, teeth clenched. “Come for me.”

Everything goes silent for an eternal second - and then you’re lurching up something furious, spasming as the most intense orgasm you’ve _ever_ experienced rolls through you in heavy swells.

You’re boneless and bleary-eyed by the time you come down and everything - _everything_ is drenched between your legs.

“Goddamn,” Dean breathes. “We got a squirter here.”

You blink and groan. “Dean…” His name is just a slur as it rolls off your tongue. You’re disoriented still, but you know you’ve gotta get out. “C’mon… Lemme go.”

“Now that’s not very fair,” Dean says, feigning disappointment. “Gonna wimp out on me after all that?”

“Goddamnit, please - my arms hurt-”

He’s grinning bright as he _hoists_ you up by your biceps, your legs still draped over his thighs while he loosens the rope. You’re somewhat cradled right his chest while he works, can smell the earthy, salty spice of him. Fuck.

You’re sore up to your shoulders, but take the opportunity. Pain ripples up your arms as you fall back to your elbows, but you manage to get your legs _up_ and lock your ankles behind his head. Using your weight, you heft and _twist_ to the side, and he stumbles forward - but then clamps his hands hard on your hips and deftly flips you back to your belly. Your feet unlock on their own under his strength, and he knees his way up between your puttied thighs.

“Nice moves,” he says, voice unnervingly steady. And then he’s working your jeans and panties down.

 _Shit_.

You feel the chill wash over your damp cunt once he gets your pants to your knees. You gnash your teeth. “Dean-”

“When are you gonna stop lyin’ to yourself, huh?” He smooths your hair back, nestles his lips right at that tender spot behind your ear. “You and I both know how much you want this,” he whispers, the heat of his breath and bulk and words sending the blood straight to your clit. “Your pussy told me so,” he adds with a bone-deep chuckle.

The asshole is unfortunately right, but you won’t - _can’t_ \- give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

“Get. Off. Of me,” you seethe.

“Oh, I’m gonna get off for sure,” Dean quips, and you aren’t amused in the least, but new arousal courses through you (much to your fury) at the lewdness of the remark. You squirm underneath him, but all it does is crush your clit _deliciously_ against the cold floor and he’s so hot and heavy hovering above you and-

THWACK!

Your cheeks burn at the fresh slap against your ass, and your cunt fucking _flutters_ when he trails the pads of his fingers over the sting. This - _he_ \- shouldn’t be turning you on, but your body is absolutely _melting_ for him; literally even, it feels like.

“You really do have a nice ass,” Dean rumbles, and then - shit - then he’s squeezing the flesh there, gets his fingernails into it as he kneads, and the bite-and-pressure of it feels so goddamned _fantastic_.

You can still feel the ache of his fingers as he drops down to his elbows, corded forearms framing your head and shoulders, and then he starts - _god_. He starts to shamelessly grind his hips right into your ass; rutting and pressing. You can feel the rigid lump mashed up against you, and - _fuck_. A horrifying image of Sam returning to see this settles and stirs in your guts. He’ll be back soon, and you tell Dean just as much.

“Sam’ll be back any second,” you breathe, and Dean lifts up. You go to follow, but he presses you back down with a heavy, finger-splayed hand at the center of your back.

“Yep,” Dean throws back. His hand’s gone, but there’s a distinct clinking noise… then a slide of leather… a drag of a zipper. “So whaddya say we get started?” You tremble at that - but it isn’t from fear, not really. No, it’s so much worse; you’re cunt is seized up and _dripping_ at the words - at the _promise_. “And who knows,” he continues, inching down the length of you, “Sammy just might like it.”

_Jesus. Christ._


End file.
